The End of Memphis After Dark
by KindredWoD
Summary: The explosive conclusion of the online chronicle known as Memphis After Dark (MaD). The false Prince is killed and the Seneschal runs away with her favorite ghoul to a new city under a new identity. When you're dealing with kindred this strong, it takes a pretty big event to take them down...


**Warnings:** Bashing of religious zealots. Unrealistic explosions. Minor romance/sexual activity.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the World of Darkness. However, I do own the female character in this story (known by several names, but originally named Bastala Tenka). The characters Demitri and Lou are owned by their respective players and are used here with their permission.

**Story summary:** I used to run an online RP game of the old World of Darkness with my significant other at the time. However when he and I had a falling out, the game collapsed and I decided I would kill off his overly-powerful primary character, for the purposes of giving my girl closure and a bit of story when I play her later. The online game chronicle was called Memphis After Dark.

* * *

The unmarked black limo comes to a stop on the shoulder of the rarely used off-ramp of the freeway. The driver hops out in one fluid motion, his shoulder-length deep brown hair tossing slightly in the late afternoon breeze. The waning sunlight glints off the few thin streaks of blonde scattered through his locks as he hits the remote on his keychain to open the trunk. Reaching inside, he pulls out a stack of six florescent road cones. Propping them against his chest as he holds the bottom of the stack, he hits the remote again to close the trunk. The man's black leather boots make gentle thumps on the asphalt as he makes a quick stroll up the ramp to where it connects to the highway. Ensuring no one is paying him any particular attention, he sets the cones in a manner that signals the off-ramp is closed. As he stands upright from placing the last one, the slightest creak is heard from his seat of his well-fit black leather pants. His dark red silk shirt is silent as he rolls his shoulders, his toned muscles concealed beneath the fine fabric. Turning back to the limo, he makes the same quick pace back and slips back into the driver's seat. Once there, he locks all the doors and lowers the screen between the driving cab and the rear guest area. Out of habit from his bodyguard duties, he reaches beneath the driver's seat to gently touch the handles of the several blades and the single pistol concealed there. Satisfied, he turns sideways in his seat to look to the occupant in the rear of the vehicle.

The pale skin of the woman reclining on the Italian leather bench seat in the rear of the limo stands out like a robin's egg on black velvet, and just as delicate. One hand resting in her lap, the other is at her face, the slender fingers slightly curling and uncurling by her temple and cheek slowly. Her dark chocolate eyes gaze out the right-side window, transfixed on a single point. The driver doesn't have to see to know what she's looking at. The neon light border around the sign reading "Tigar's Lare" is almost the only thing on the building that would attract any attention. The building itself is rather nondescript; plain white brick on the outside walls and matte black paint on the front door. The parking lot is nearly empty at the moment; only a few expensive-looking cars parked up front that must belong to the owner or employees. The entire ensemble is located on ground-level approximately a half-mile from the limo's location on the off-ramp.

"It will be over before midnight," the woman comments idly. Her voice carries a note that would bring the average man to his knees, nearly begging to be commanded by that angelic voice so long as he can hear it again.

The driver has been in her presence enough to have acclimated to such a sound. "Indeed," he replies in a near baritone as he brings his right arm to rest on the divider between the front and rear sections, leaning on it as he watches her. "Is this vantage point acceptable, my lady?"

"It's fine," she says as the hand by her face drops down to her collarbone. Her fingertips begin to idly toy with what is hanging on the white gold box chain. A ring in the shape of a snake eating its own tail sits next to a diamond engagement ring on the chain. Her left hand that was in her lap lifts to motion to the driver, beckoning him to her. "Sit with me, Demitri."

Knowing better than to keep his mistress waiting, the driver ensures the keys are in his pocket before maneuvering his leanly toned body headfirst through the opening and into the backseat. He scoots over to her and sits against her left hip, so as not to impede her view of the club below, his body curling towards hers slightly. He slips his right arm along the back of the seat behind her and takes her left hand in his, bringing it up to his lips and placing a soft kiss to the back of it. His lips are warm against her chilled skin, and they linger just long enough to hint that it is a lover's touch. "Does my lady wish for anything to make her more comfortable while we wait?" he asks in a hushed tone.

Earthen brown locks in long waves toss lightly as she shakes her head no. "I'm fine," she says before leaning against him slightly. "A bit tired, but the adrenaline will assist me soon enough." She takes a breath she hasn't needed in well over a century, mostly due to habit. Her right hand slips lower on her chest than the necklace with rings, to a beaded chain with a pair of dogtags that sit at the top of her cleavage. The swell of her breasts peeks through the v-neck of a simple dark-purple longsleeve cotton shirt. She absently taps one of her finely manicured nails on one of the tags gently, knowing the man that once wore the tags will be well aware of the soon-to-transpire events, and therefore clear of the area.

Demitri takes a moment to glance in all directions from the windows within his view, ensuring no one is attempting to approach the limo. With the events of the day, his duties have drastically changed. His first priority above all else is now to keep his mistress safe. In the past, that job fell to another, but that will change in less than an hour. "I believe I hear horns in the distance; many of them and coming in this direction," he says as he turns his head to the left in an attempt to hear better in that direction. Letting go of her left hand for a moment, he reaches over to lower the left-side window a fraction of an inch. The fading light of sunset reflecting off the clouds sends a spear of light through the otherwise darkened limo's interior, causing the woman to bring her hand up to shield her eyes. The sun is on the right side of the limo, or Demitri would not have done such a thing. Once the window is cracked, the sounds of numerous diesel engines, large car engines, and assorted horns can be heard approaching as though they are in the form of a pack all bunched together. Once he confirms the sound, he presses the button to roll the window back up and retakes his place curled into his lady's side.

Within ten minutes, five church buses, a full size bus, over two dozen Cadillac cars, and roughly twenty other various cars have pulled into the club's parking lot and the surrounding lots. Almost all at once, the people pour from the vehicles. Each of them holds at least one item, be it a bible, a crucifix, or a water bottle. Some have more than one, and a few random ones have what look to be water guns. "So it begins," the woman comments as she watches the scene unfold. She squints slightly to shield her eyes from the setting sun positioned on the horizon almost directly behind the club. The day holds only another half-hour of sunlight.

The people rush the club in a torrent, bottlenecking into the club's front door as a dozen or so head to the rear entrance. Both doors are opened quickly, strangely being unlocked and without security alarms before business hours. Inside the club, the christian invaders rush into the back rooms of the facility, following the instructions leaked to them just a few days prior. Every door they encounter is unlocked and no alarms sound. Once they reach a specific room, the desk and all other furniture are shoved against a wall and the area rug yanked off the floor. They find the large double-doors to the cellar they heard about. With only a moment taken to confirm their find, these doors are also quickly yanked open and the crowd rushes down the stairs.

With heightened senses, individuals as far as a quarter mile can hear the screams of "God be with you!" and "Be gone, devil!" as the invaders find their target. Prayers are yelled, crucifixes held high, and water guns full of holy water are fired. Less than fifteen minutes after the doors were breached, a mighty roar unlike any man or beast is heard by all for at least a mile.

"Any moment now," the woman says on a whisper, leaning closer to the window. Once again, her bodyguard checks all the windows, as the crucial moment is at hand. Mere minutes after the roar echoes through the area, an ungodly rumbling is heard. The limo and its passengers feel only a minor tremor. At the site of the club however, the ground shakes and the earth quakes. The concrete and asphalt beneath and around the club tear apart as the earth opens up. Small explosions surround the club as gas pipelines break and electrical cables snap. Screams of terror quickly fill the air as the entire club begins to crumble and fall into the hole that has appeared beneath it. A good portion of the parking lot, many cars, and countless people all fall with the club into what turns into a giant chasm in the earth; seeming to be a bottomless pit. The rumbling and explosions continue for several minutes as the club's torn remains and everything near it are sucked down into the ground. One final rumble causes a large amount of black and brown dirt to bubble up where the club once stood, seemingly filling in the hole and sealing it. Where the Tigar's Lare once stood is now an empty dirt lot with broken water, gas, sewer, and electrical lines. Already the rumors will be spreading about a sinkhole beneath the club where a terrorist or cult leader was hiding, the whole thing triggered by the fanatic's booby traps against police. The smell of sulfur will be blamed on the broken pipelines.

Demitri takes the woman's hand in his and places a kiss to it once again. "Have you thought of what name you will call yourself now?" he asks as he watches the chaos below.

"I have a few ideas," she replies as she leans back a bit from where she was so close to the window watching. "Bastala Tenka Verdorben disappeared from this world over a decade ago. And Rosabelle Desirat will be known to have perished in the explosion just now."

Demitri nods before canting his head to the side, once again attempting to listen carefully. "Sirens are starting to approach, my lady."

Giving a nod of her own, she takes her gaze away from the club for the first time since the limo came to a stop on the off-ramp. "Take us away from here," she says in a hushed tone. Demitri knows those words mean more than they seem.

"Right away," he replies. Releasing her hand and reclaiming his arm from behind her head, he hits the door lock on the left-side of the passenger cabin and steps out of the limo into the twilight air. A brisk jog up the ramp, he picks up the road cones and restacks them. He makes quick work of hitting the trunk release button on the keychain still in his pocket, tossing the cones back in, and closing it before stepping up to the driver's door. His eyes are alert and aware at all times, as the chaos will likely initiate numerous real road blocks in the area. But having prepared for this night, he knows all of the roads that lead away from the club that will not be heavily utilized by emergency crews.

In the back seat, the woman now believed to be dead adjusts her position on the leather bench seat, uncurling her legs and stretching them out toward the center of the cabin. Snug-fitting dark blue jeans encase her legs and simple black boots with a three-inch heel adorn her feet. Aside from the two necklaces, she wears no jewelry. As Demitri navigates the darkened streets of Memphis and heads for the freeway heading north, she uses her boot to flip open the rotating cylinder style fridge. Inside are several wine bottles filled with red fluid far too thick to actually be wine. Each has a label with a glyph or foreign language of various types. "What do you think of Karis?" she asks as she leans forward and selects a bottle at random.

"From the Greek, meaning 'graceful' I believe," Demitri comments as he sets the cruise control on the freeway, the limo now being outside of Memphis city limits. "A simple last name would likely be best, as you've had rather elaborate ones in the past."

"Very well," she replies as she uncorks the bottle and takes a whiff of the contents. "Any suggestions?"

"Hmm," he ponders. "Something with no ties to your former lives. Perhaps 'Fox'?" he offers as he double checks the GPS on his smartphone.

"Karis Fox," she says before taking a slow draw from the bottle. She licks a stray drop from her bottom lip as she rolls the name around in her head. "Simple and unfussy. The exact opposite of Rosabelle Desirat," she says on a chuckle.

"I have a few ideas for your latest rework," Demitri continues as he gets a bit more comfortable in the front seat, leaning to one side slightly. "I've ruled out making you blond, as it says 'supermodel' a bit too much. I also don't want to make you raven-haired because many women with such are perceived as foreign or exotic beauties. You said you wanted to try and blend in, at least for a little while."

"I don't want to be as unobtainably beautiful as I am now. With Conner somewhere amid that rubble, I no longer have any competition for having the best face in Memphis. And Maria was never on the same level as myself," she says with a cocky smirk.

"She was fooling herself to think she could come in and take her old seat, let alone compete with you," he adds with a smirk that mirrors that of his mistress.

"Indeed," she says before taking another draw from the bottle, this one longer. "What else did you have in mind?" Demitri goes on to describe how he's planning to change her body through his skilled Flesh-Crafting hands. He's done it twice before already, so the details do not cause her any distress.

Several hours later, somewhere in Missouri, Demitri stops for gas and a fresh cup of coffee. He makes no move toward the rear doors of the limo, trying to make onlookers who are also stopped at the gas station think that perhaps it's empty and he's simply delivering the vehicle. Instead he goes to the trunk, opening it and retrieving a roast beef sandwich from the moderate-sized cooler he packed the day before. Between dying of starvation and eating gas station food, he would give serious consideration to the first choice. Less than twenty minutes later, they're back on the road, heading northwest as they ride several state lines. Stopping for gas roughly every four-hundred miles, Demitri makes it a point to use big gas stations in small towns, establishments that will be reliable but not be in a town worth noting. Everything is paid for in cash and he even pulls on a pair of driving gloves before exiting the car, ensuring no prints are left on door handles, gas pumps, or other areas. Once he gets back in the limo, he pulls them off again.

After about a day and a half of driving, Demitri pulls into a tiny motel somewhere in Montana. He takes the same precautions with his gloves as he did with all of the gas stations. Paying for a solid week upfront, he flirts with the front desk clerk just enough that she'll think of him as just another cutie headed north for vacation. When she tries to get his number, he gives a shy smile and says he's actually headed to his wedding that's at a cabin surrounded by snow, hence the limo. When he turns to leave the lobby, his heightened hearing catches the girl quietly muttering about "lucky bitch."

The woman now known as Karis waits for several hours in the limo that is parked on the backside of the motel. While waiting for her, Demitri performs a thorough inspection of the motel room, checking for any hidden cameras the staff might have put in to try and sell prostitute porn. He also checks for little things like ensuring the sheets were actually changed after the last guests and the shower having hot water. He chose the motel because it was a piece of crap that no one would bat an eye at, but that of course comes with a few hardships. At about one in the morning, after he noticed the desk clerk go home for the night and a fifty-something man come on shift, Demitri makes brisk and silent steps down the three flights of stairs to fetch his mistress.

Karis makes no noise when Demitri opens the door for her. She watched him come down the stairs through the heavily tinted limo window and quickly goes up to the room with the door ajar and his scent trailing from. Back at the limo, Demitri fetches the two suitcases from the trunk and pushes the stack of road cones all the way to the back of the trunk, out of the way. Using his well-developed strength, he carries both suitcases easily as he makes the same silent and quick pace back to the room.

"I think you took my advice about a non-flashy hotel a bit too far, my dear," Karis chuckles after he's closed and locked the door.

Over the course of the next four days, Demitri molds Karis' flesh and even her bones, reshaping her body and face into her new identity. He stops only to sleep, which she insists upon so that he can be well rested and focused, or to track down a reasonable meal for himself at one of the small diners in the no-name town. Luckily they had the foresight to bring plenty of vitae for Karis. Feeding Demitri drains her own reserves, and leaving a trail of missing persons across the country would spoil their attempts at anonymity and evasion.

Five days after the limo pulled into the motel parking lot, a woman no one but Demitri has ever laid eyes on steps into the crisp night air. Walnut brown hair falls in waves around her shoulders and halfway down her back, honey highlights scattered throughout. Once being five-and-a-half feet tall, she now falls a few inches shorter, though her boots make up for the difference. The once too-perfect curves of her hips and the shape of the flesh on her arms have been given a more realistic appearance, leaning more toward something a woman could actually obtain without surgery if she were blessed with the proper genetics. Dark chocolate eyes have given way to sea-foam green with flecks of grey. Even the tint of her lips has been toned down, the look of being permanently wine-stained now a soft pink-rose hue. Where once porcelain skin shone like a diamond, slightly tanned flesh gives the appearance that she's trying to work on a tan and not quite done. The only things Demitri left completely alone were her T & A. He thought it would be a shame to ruin such perfection.

A noise from the area of the front office puts Karis on alert, not wanting to blow this now. In instant later, she's no longer standing there, but an extra shadow seems to have appeared on the wall next to where she was standing. With one of the suitcases in each hand, Demitri makes his way down the walkway as though nothing is amiss, keeping his pace even as the extra shadow moves along the wall next to him. An onlooker would think the shadow is simply his, though there is no light source from the opposite side. When he reaches the staircase, the shadow slips down to ground level, creeping along the asphalt. He opens the rear door of the limo for a brief moment, allowing the door to crack open only a few inches, but the shadow is quick to slip into the rear cabin in that instant. He puts the suitcases in the trunk and quickly gets into the driver seat. The entire time he is between the motel room and the driver door, Demitri's senses are on full alert.

Pulling quickly out of the motel about an hour before sunrise, Demitri is quietly thankful he had the foresight to leave the note in the room. The cleaning lady (if there is one) will find one of the stationary pads found in every drawer of every hotel room, with a note written in a style Demitri purposely used other than his own. It simply states, "Thanks. Keep the change."

They travel through the day and night, and into the following day. A few hours before sunset, Demitri pulls the limo into the reserved spaces for limos at a big name hotel in Seattle, Washington. He ensures all the doors are locked after he gets out, and then double-checks them again. He then the travels on foot through Seattle's bustling downtown to the tall condo building he'd made arrangements with a few weeks ago. The assistant in the leasing office is a man, so Demitri doesn't have to bother flirting. His crisp white shirt, expensive blazer, and slicked back hair give the assistant the impression he's dealing with a man of money and style; exactly the type of residents they want in their building. After providing the ID to one of his many reserved identities, Demitri is escorted up to his new three bedroom condo on the fifteenth floor of the building. Not the top floor and not the most expensive layout of the building; he gives a silent smile to himself. Blending in with a higher-class crowd is still blending in, after all. He gives a smile to the leasing agent and they head back down to the office to finalize the paperwork. He informs the man that he'll return the next day and that furniture should begin to arrive by the end of the week.

On his way back through the city, Demitri takes note of the numerous goth-themed clubs that sit dormant in the daylight. He ponders if they were part of the reason his mistress chose this city as their new home. When he makes it back to the limo, he unlocks the driver door and slides in quickly, closing the door as quietly as he can. He knows Karis will be trying to get some sleep now that she's safe in her new identity. Taking a half hour to set up wards around the vehicle that even Karis doesn't fully understand, he allows himself to catch a few winks as well, after setting his phone to wake him the hour of sunset.

Five hours later, Demitri awakens to his alarm, a segment of his favorite Nightwish song stirring him from slumber. As he stretches his legs out, he hears Karis moving in the back of the limo. The alarm must have woken her as well. He hits the button to lower the screen between the two sections and looks to where she's lying on the floor of the passenger cabin, stretching like a content cat. She stretches every muscle and moves every joint of her new body, even curling her toes that show since she removed her boots earlier. "The sun retreats and the night blossoms, m'lady," Demitri says to her on a smile.

"Indeed," she replies before flipping over onto her stomach and propping her chin in her palm to look up at him. "So where did you go?"

"I secured our new primary living arrangements. It is unfurnished, so we can go furniture shopping whenever you like," he says with a sly smile. He knows his mistress may be over a hundred, but she is still a woman and still loves to shop. While internet shopping makes it easier for night-dwellers to acquire goods in this modern era, he still gets amused at that classic triumphant look she gets when she finds what she's looking for in a physical store.

"Tomorrow," she offers. "Tonight I want to see the city. We should have fun blending in here." Her grin would be described as absolutely wicked by your average mortal. However Demitri has seen her truly wicked side. This grin is one of simple amusement. "Let's get into the hotel and get changed. I want to have just a little bit of fun this first night in our new city." She crawls up onto one of the longer benches that runs the length of the limo and stretches her newly sculpted body along the seat, arching her back and looking up at the ceiling of the vehicle.

Demitri knows her saying "our city" would have meant far more in past years. She could have waltzed in, flashed her power, and had full control within a month, if not mere weeks. But now is not the time for such. Now they need to lay low, blend in, and try not to have too much fun that draws unwanted attention. "As you wish," he says simply before closing his eyes and concentrating. Within seconds, the wards that kept them safe while they slept drop away and dissipate. While they were up, anyone who happened to glance at the limo wouldn't notice the fact that their eyes drifted away from the vehicle of their own accord, making them overlook it and pay it no heed. Had anyone been able to force their gaze to stay on it and approach with intentions of mischief or malice, other wards would have quickly retaliated in a more physical manner. Once these are gone, Demitri opens the driver door and steps out, casting glances in all directions as he steps back to the rear door, opening it for her while he remains vigilant of their surroundings.

Karis pulls her boots back on before stepping out of the limo, smoothing her jeans over the tops of them as she stands up. "It's going to take some time to get used to this height," she comments as she glances around as well.

"If you wish, I can change it back once you are certain you no longer need to be Karis," he states as he closes the door and heads for the trunk, hitting his remote to open it.

As Demitri pulls out the two suitcases and hits the remote again, shutting the trunk and locking the doors, Karis gives a shrug. "I'm sure by then I'll have acclimated." She says nothing more as they make their way to the front entrance of the large hotel, Demitri carrying both suitcases as Karis walks slightly ahead of him. It's a formation easily remembered from earlier years when he was more of a servant to her than a trusted confidant and retainer.

After hey get checked in under the same alias Demitri used for the apartment, leaving a clear enough paper trail to establish his new identity in the city, they get cleaned up and dressed for the evening. As they walk through the city and approach the edge against the bay, Karis confirms Demitri's earlier notion of one of the reasons she chose Seattle. She chooses one of the goth clubs at random and they head toward it.

The low-cut V-neck of her black, stretchy racerback top is enough to draw the doorman's attention. Once he glances up to her face, she locks eyes and gives him a mental push, a sly smile slipping onto her lips when she recognizes the placid look that comes to his face. She and Demitri never break stride as they walk right up to the door, bypassing the long line of waiting guests, and the man doesn't bother to check their ID or stamp their hands before pulling the door open for them to enter. The thick bass of a goth song from the early 2000s fills the air, encouraging Karis to let her eyes drift closed and her head gently nodding side to side. After a minute or so, she allows herself to come back to reality and looks to Demitri with a grin. She speaks in a level tone, knowing his heightened senses will pick her words from the noise easily. "I think we're going to be right at home here," she says on a grin.

Demitri doesn't speak his reply, merely returning the smile and giving a nod. They wander over to one of the unoccupied booths, sliding in side-by-side. Demitri sitting on the inside, Karis turns sideways, stretching her legs along the seat and leaning back against his chest as he turns somewhat sideways to accommodate her. Her long legs are mostly bare, a pair of black shorts not hiding much of her thighs and a pair of girlish combat boots on her feet. A train of sheer black fabric flows from the back of the shorts for an interesting flair, coming down to her ankles when she's standing.

She crosses her feet at the ankle and sits silently for several minutes, simply people-watching. Demitri takes the opportunity to trail his thumb up and down the outside of her arm, simply appreciating that his mistress is finally having a moment of enjoyment and relaxation after the past month. After a few songs trail by, Karis tilts her head to look back at her retainer. "I'm going to dance. You can relax here," she tells him. She knows he doesn't exactly get excited at the notion of dancing, though does enjoy watching her. He gives a nod and she slides from the booth, hips already swaying slightly to the beat that fills the club.

Many pairs of eyes are on her, she's sure. However one of the reasons she chooses to relax in clubs like this, other than the atmosphere ironically matching what she is, is that goth guys aren't like preppy popular ones. It's almost like the men are required to have a certain degree of tact to enter the room here. As such, she isn't immediately mobbed by groping guys. It doesn't stop them from watching though.

Karis closes her eyes and lets the music seep into her. It's been too long since she's been able to completely relax like this; simply let go and forget about political tension, squabbling clanmates, and a Sire that betrayed her. Now that she's done with all that, she lets her body sway and turn to the beat, feeling her body become more lithe and soothed with every motion. As the songs change, she feels a gentle hand at her lower back, the body attached to it coming up beside her as the man speaks softly. "Haven't seen you around here," he offers. Karis opens her eyes and looks to the well-built club patron now vying for her attention. "Mind if I join you?" he asks rather politely in this day in age.

"She's dancing with someone else now." Karis' cold breath catches in her throat and she almost stops moving completely. The voice came from the other side of her, opposite the clubber. A slow smile slides onto her rose-pink lips as she unhurriedly turns her head toward the voice's owner. Her body now shorter than it used to be, her gaze is greeted by a solid wall of a chest concealed in a loose-fit black tshirt and surrounded by a well-worn black leather duster. Her seafoam eyes trailing upward, she takes in the straight shoulders and strong neck of the man, and finally up to his sharp-angled chin and face framed in shoulder length black hair with blood red streaks. "So why don't you move along, little man," Lou states simply.

The clubber doesn't speak, merely backing away with his eyes approaching the size of dinner plates, something about the newcomer creeping the guy out beyond reason. Keeping his eyes trained on the retreating man, Lou's hand comes around to replace where the stranger had touched Karis, his large hand spreading over her lower back and slowly urging her towards him. She doesn't need much coaxing. She turns her body toward his, their bodies meeting as she slides her hands up the front of his chest and around to the back of his neck. After a few moments, Lou become satisfied that the clubber has retreated far enough away to break his gaze and look down to the small woman he now wraps his arms around. "I knew you would find me. I just didn't know it would be this soon," she says on a smile.

"I've been here for a few weeks," he replies in that tone he reserves only for her. "I started to get bits and pieces a few months ago, finally putting the flipbook together about four weeks ago. Ironically it took me longer to figure out which club you would be in than it did for me to know what your plan for the Lare was." He leans down to gently nuzzle the spot where her neck meets her shoulder, whispering. "I missed you."

"I missed you too," she whispers back, nuzzling him in return. Almost on cue, the song playing turns to HIM's "When Love and Death Embrace." Lou stands up somewhat, but keeps his chin on top of her head as they slowly sway to the music. By the time the song ends, they've wandered over toward a mostly bare wall, where Lou puts his back against the exposed brick and encourages her to lean against him. As before, she doesn't need much convincing. They stay like that for several minutes, simply holding each other again for the first time in years. It's Karis who finally looks up and gives a tiny smile to the man she's loved for years. He knows her expressions well, and returns the small smile before dipping his head down to bring his lips to hers. The kiss is slow and unhurried at first, a building-up after so many years apart. It's unclear whose tongue seeks out the other first, but soon they are tasting each other and making several club patrons turn away while blushing.

Karis gasps for air she doesn't need when Lou suddenly slips his hands beneath her thighs, grabs her toned ass, and spins her around to put her back against the brick wall and wrap her legs around his lean hips. "I need to taste you," he practically growls into the crook of her neck. "I've barely held it together without you. Let me know it's you under that face."

"Yes, baby," she says breathlessly. "I promise it's me." It's been a while, but she's not unfamiliar with his Malky emotional flips. Normal one moment; not so much the next. She's the only one who can keep this Crazy anything close to sane.

He needs no further permission. Under the guise of making out with her against the wall, he holds her firm as he sinks his razor sharp fangs into the flesh of her shoulder next to her neck. A cry not unlike a woman reaching peak escapes her lips as her eyes nearly roll back in her head. He isn't gentle at first, the desperation of ensuring it's really his love all but consuming him. Her hand dives into his red-streaked locks as she holds his head to her, letting him take all he needs to be assured he truly has her in his arms again. The other hand claws at his back, the ecstasy of the bite coursing through her.

Sucking deeply of the elder-rich vitae in her veins, it takes almost a full minute for Lou to calm down and slowly pull his fangs from her, licking the wound closed and looking to her face. "I had to know," he confesses softly.

"It's alright, baby," she reassures him, looking into his eyes with her newly remade ones. The hand that was in his hair trails down to gently trace her fingertips along his temple and jawline. "I'm here," she tells him. There's so much he wants to say but can't find words adequate to properly express it all. She can read his face though, and gives him a soft reassuring smile. "I'm here."


End file.
